Chief Garrick Halloway rocked in his chair, smoking a long-stemmed pipe, scrutinizing the crowd filling the Market Square of Ardholm. His elevated position from the front porch of the Sheriff’s Office offered the perfect vantage point for his vigilance.  Aromatic smoke billowed around the graying dark hair of his goatee and head while he contemplated the kingdom’s prosperous year.  Every farmstead in the kingdom accounted for larger-than-expected yields; warehouses were full, citizens were safe and praised the King.  

     “Like the king had anything to do with it,” he mused. “Not unless his highness learned to command the weather.”

     The crowd shifted at the office’s gates as a heavy-set man pressed forward, panting with effort as sweat beaded off his bald crown.

     “Open for the Mayor,” he barked at the gate guard, then looked up, “Garrick, tell this fool to open this damn gate.”

     Garrick waved his hand, and the guard opened the gate.  The mayor pushed through, ambling his large bulk up the porch stairs. His ruddy face, large frame, and extravagant clothes spoke of overindulgence. He smoothed the curly gray hair ringing his head and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his brow.

     “Things are proceeding rather well, eh Garrick?”

     Garrick turned his gaze from the crowd, quickly scrutinized the Mayor, then turned back to his vigilance.  He replied, "So far, but it’s not quite noon yet, and it's the evening when things will get interesting. With all the alcohol and revelry, the whole city’s a powder keg.”

     “That’s maybe, Chief,” the Mayor replied. “But you let the deputies know this is a day of celebration.  No more complaints about them disrupting festivities.”

     Garrick’s expression turned grim as he glanced back. “They’re doing their job. Rumors on the street say that the Three Scars have some demonstration planned.”

     “Just rumors,” the mayor scoffed. “There’s no proof, all rumor; if there were any truth to it, the Mages of Maegan-Or would’ve confirmed it.”  The mayor pointed to the imposing tower at the square’s western side.  Parth-Maegan, the Tower of Mages, gleamed with iridescent color in the sunlight, its very existence defying gravity.  The tower represented the true power of the kingdom—the hub of magic and learning, surrounded by a campus of libraries, laboratories, and dorms.

     “Don’t push aside these rumors, Eustace,” Garrick retorted.  “the signs of the Three Scars have been popping up all over the city.  My men remove them when discovered, but someone is putting them up.  Whether it is fear-mongering or fact, it doesn’t matter. It's a threat.”

     “Fine, fine,” the Mayor agreed. “Just keep the guards on a low profile during the day, and you can bring them out in force tonight before the fireworks from the tower begin.”

     “Fair enough,” Garrick replied as cheers erupted across the square.

     “Ah, the Prince has arrived,” the Mayor exclaimed, “If you’ll excuse me, Chief, I must go greet our honored guest.”

     With agility incongruous to his size, the mayor hurried to the gate, yelling, “Move aside, make way for the mayor.”